Fly A Kite
by Amazonia
Summary: This story is about darkness. It's about Survivors' Guilt and memories and growing up. But, most of all, it's about redemption and that light at the end of the tunnel.


**Title: Fly A Kite**

Characters: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy  
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Humor [I hope, anyway].  
Rating: PG-16 [Mostly because of the Language warning.]  
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Pre-Slash/Slash [You have been warned!]  
Summary: This story is about darkness. It's about Survivors' Guilt and memories and growing up. But, most of all, it's about that light at the end of the tunnel called redemption.

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Disclaimer: Except for this plot, I do not own Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, any other characters, and Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form.

Disclaimer for the Disclaimer: This Disclaimer is true for the rest of this story, and I will not be copying it into every chapter, as I do mean the Disclaimer to be for the Story-As-A-Whole, not this chapter alone.

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**Chapter One  
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Draco woke up when the rain started dripping from the overhead branches onto his skin; his head jerked from left to right as the water splashed on his closed eyelids. He woke up groggy, his back hurt from where he'd slumped down onto a part of the tree's root that had been sticking out of the ground. Mostly, the trees in this part of The Forbidden Forest were a good cover from the rain, but the cup like leaves were overflowing now, and the extra water was all coming down on Draco's head. How long had it been raining? He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and pulled at the sodden neckline of his shirt. Bloody autumn, he thought. He was freezing.

He'd found this spot weeks ago, right when school started again. Eight years at Hogwarts. Lots of witches and wizards would be coming here for eight years now. Only the first-time First years this year would have a normal seven-year term. Everyone else, no matter how much education they thought they'd gotten - and who would think they'd gotten all that much was beyond Draco's comprehension, what with everyone always huddling in classrooms scared to death about what the Death Eaters in the school were up to - would stay back. It would be like the year had never happened.

Ah! The spoils of war. Temporary amnesia - especially since it was being so promoted - was always a nice, safe option.

But Draco had never chosen that. He knew what he'd done, and what he hadn't, and all the subtle things in between. It was lucky, yes lucky, that he'd even been given a chance to come back. But the Board of Governors, headed by Molly Weasley of all people, had decreed that _Everyone _would be getting a second chance. Of course, known Death Eaters like himself were bonded. They'd put a hold on their magic. Molly Weasley wasn't so stupid as to allow Real Live Death Eaters in the School without some form of protection.

Draco got up and leaned against the tree, looking out at the dull, gray sky under the quivering leaves. That one, he thought, closing one eye and zeroing in on a particular leaf with a pointed finger as if it were a wand, would completely tip over soon. The scales of Justice were a wavering, subjective business. Draco held his hand under the long stream of water as the leaf finally turned over and washed his face to get rid of the dirt that had gotten stuck on it while he'd slept.

Redemption. That's all he'd wanted. A second chance. But even if Molly Weasley had unknowingly tried to give him one, the students of Hogwarts were not so keen to adhere to her wishes. So if Draco had run off to hide, yes, to hide - and so much for new beginnings, he thought, with a vicious kick to the root he had slept on - from everyone and everything, the accusing eyes of the portraits, the pointing fingers of the statues, the raised swords of the armors, the hexes from the students, then so be it. He would run. And he had, to the unlikeliest place that anyone would ever look for him. These trees were on the other end of Hogwarts, a place hardly anyone dared to venture. And even though he was close enough to the edge, Draco always felt apprehension when he approached it. But of two evils, only the fool would choose the one that he did not know.

Draco cast a Tempus and heard the slight, whispering ticking of the clock before it showed its face to him. He sighed. He should probably get back. If he didn't show up for dinner... Well... he had to show up to dinner, anyway. Probation decreed that. He pushed himself off the trunk of the tree and ripped the leaf that had spilled it's water from its branch.

"Thank you," he said, patting the trunk. Then he pointed his wand at the leaf and made it larger, so he could hold it over his head as he walked.

He knew it was probably not the best idea, but he stuck his wand in its holster anyway and started to trudge back to the castle. He had to hurry now. If he was late, people would surely _worry_. Draco sneered, but quickly wiped it off his face. Of course, if he was in their position... he could see why everyone was so itchy around him. He was the only Death Eater in the school, after all. But what could one Death Eater do, really, to a whole castle full of watching eyes? Hurt one person before they all jumped at him?

He couldn't do that. No matter how many complaints had come to the Headmistress about him, no matter how many times he'd walked up those claustrophobic tower steps to her office and endured the sight of a sleeping Dumbledore, she couldn't do anything but stare at him sternly over the top of her spectacles. Because, like it or not, she also had the eyes of the portraits, who, glaring all they wanted, still could never lie to the Headmistress about what he did or did not do. But if he so much as scratched someone, and it was deemed purposeful, he would be out of there faster than Harry Potter.

The-Boy-Who-Disappeared. The-Boy-Who-No-One-Mentioned even Whispered-About in the temporary hall that all the second-time Seventh years shared. He'd been at school the first week of classes. He hadn't so much as looked at Draco during those whole seven days, he hadn't so much as looked at anyone, really, and then... well, then he was gone, and no one talked about it anymore. But Draco knew something was up because of the quiet way Weasley and his Mud-Muggleborn girlfriend Granger went about their days, because of the boisterous, eagerly violent way that Girl-Weasley went about hers. The Boy Who-

Draco's attention was grabbed by a figure in the middle of the lake, standing stock still on one of the First year boats with his arms out, welcoming this end-of-the-summer downpour.

"Bloody fuck!" Draco cursed out loud, his yell lost in the sudden wind. Sodding Voldemort's Hell, he cursed internally, getting drenched as the rain shifted angles and came at him diagonally. He ran, dropping the now useless leaf as it tattered in the storm.

The Boy Who Was Looking To Get Himself Killed, Draco bit out in his head with satisfaction as he reached the bank of the lake. "Potter, you dolt! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Draco yelled through the water and wind. But his voice barely got five inches from his mouth when it was whipped away. When had the weather turned so abruptly? Draco thought wildly. It had only been a heavy shower before.

"Potter!" Draco shouted, cupping his hands. You're a wizard, Draco. Think. He couldn't Accio things, things that far away, anyway. That was _too risky_. He snorted as water dripped from his nose and hair. If he got Pneumonia and _fucking died _because of bloody Potter, he would come back and haunt him for all of time. He fumbled for his second-rate wand and pointed it at his throat. "Sonorous," he intoned.

"Harry Bloody Potter! You get back over here," he said, glad that his voice was loud and unwavering. But it wasn't loud enough, apparently, because Potter didn't even turn around. Thunder pealed through the sky, and Draco jumped, ripping the wand away from his throat and ending the spell. He looked at the sky and narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong.

Wrong.

He closed his eyes and cursed himself a million times to Sunday. He knew he would regret this. He stuck his wand back in its holster, making sure it was in there snugly. Not that he was overly fond of the thing, but it was the only wand he owned now. He toed off his shoes, swearing again as he scuffed the left one, and pulled off his socks. Why did he give a damn about Harry freaking Potter, anyway? Well, he didn't. Of course.

But if somehow there were portraits or statues, or even Hogwarts itself, watching and they saw him walking away from this - from this _especially_ - well, he'd be in a hell of a lot more trouble than if he'd scratched anyone. So he chucked off his robes and hoped that Madam Pomfrey could cure Hypothermia real quick, because he didn't think being stuck in a bed in the Hospital Wing would do anything to ensure his bodily safety from the rest of the school. And before he had a chance to run away asking for help - because with Potter bringing his hands together like he was about to dive into the lake, Draco knew he wouldn't have enough time to do that - he jumped in.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck! Draco swore in his head, holding his breath in. It felt like he was in the middle of an icicle. He cursed Potter, again, to the slimy, rusted, putrid gates of the underworld, and began to swim. He was going to kill Potter before the storm got him. Before the Giant Squid got him. Before his stupid offish clumsiness drowned him. Stroke after stroke after stroke, he cursed Potter. Breathing in and breathing out, trying not to get rain or lake water in his lungs.

He jerked and yelled, inhaling water, as he felt the slow slide of tentacles brushing his body. Oh, God! Draco cried, closing his eyes and treading water for a second so he could get his bearings. The Giant Squid was going to drown him, the bloody thing! He coughed, gagging on the water as he exhaled it violently. Potter! Draco felt it righteous to add. And he would've lifted his fist towards the still figure a mere twenty feet before him if he didn't think he'd lose his bearings in these increasingly tumultuous waves. Why did the shit have to go crazy _Now_? Couldn't he have chosen a quiet time in the height of summer when No One Was Here or The Water Was Warm if someone was. He felt the Giant Squid's arms wrap around his ankle, and he gasped and started swimming.

It occurred to Draco, after the squid had made several passes at him, that the eight-legged cephalopodic freak was actually trying to help him, not drown him. The thought was so funny, so strange, that Draco swallowed more water with his laughter. But he didn't have time to dwell on it because, just then, Harry Potter's tiny boat was in view, and Draco realized it was actually _his_ tiny boat. There were his initials, _"DM_," right on the side of the boat he was on when he was a First year. How long ago that was? Draco remembered Potter's hand not coming up to shake his, his offer shoved back in his face. And after that, almost all of their touches had been to hurt, to cause pain. Except in sixth year. Except last year. The year that everyone forgot. Except, they didn't forget about him and the little mark that marred his skin. Why would they forget about that? One had to have an enemy after all.

Draco tore his eyes away from the carved letters as another score of thunder drummed across the sky. There was something wrong. Draco couldn't put his finger on it. He'd try and figure it out later; now Potter was right there, within reaching distance, and if the squid was feeling magnanimous maybe he'd give them a free lift to the shore. But Draco didn't know how to speak Squid, so all he could hope for was that this particular one, probably just like all other squids, animals, and furry little creatures, liked Harry Potter and would want to save him.

"Potter! Hey, Potter?" Draco yelled, knowing for sure that his voice should've gotten to the prat's ears all right. But he didn't look down at Draco, didn't even acknowledge that he'd swam all this way to rescue him, the idiot. How typical! So Draco shook the boat, hard, and clumsy Potter still stood straight as an arrow, not even wavering an inch. Trepidation began to creep into Draco Malfoy's body faster than his breath, and he began to choke.

What if Potter was dead already? What if someone had positioned him like that. But Draco had seen him moving, hadn't he? His arms had been moving towards a diving position. But now they were back to how they were when Draco had first seen him, open wide, welcoming the coming storm. Draco looked to his right, where Potter's body was facing, and he could see the dark gray clouds coming towards them.

Shit. He had to get them out of here, and fast. He began to climb into the boat, his fingers brushing against his initials as he hefted himself on board. He hoped to God that it wouldn't tip over.

Stupid Potter and his stupid mission to get himself stupidly killed. Why couldn't he just accept the fact that he was the boy who Lived. Lived, not died. Although, Draco had heard rumors. He'd heard his mother whispering to his father late into the night about Potter. They'd always stopped when he got near, but they were whispering about him nonetheless. And Draco always wondered.

He stood on the tiny boat, (and had they all really been that small once, for more than one of them to fit in here comfortably), which was a little shaky now with his unsure footing. His breath was still coming in gasps from the utter wrongness of this situation, but he grabbed Potter's right arm and twisted under it so he could face Potter and force him to accept the fact that they had to leave.

He saw the lightening in Potter's eyes. A great branch of it, a bark of it, like an upside down tree, straining towards them. Potter's eyes were blank mirrors that reflected everything. Draco felt his eyes go wide, so impossibly wide that the skin around his eye sockets stretched.

"Potter," he whispered fearfully. "Potter, we've got to get off this boat." But where would they go when water wasn't exactly going to save them? Still. "Potter," Draco shook him, but he was still, statuesque. "Harry," he gritted the word, it felt foreign, like it was missing pieces - a curse and a Potter pieces. It felt strange, like words forgotten on the edge of his tongue. And he still didn't look at Draco, but his eyes were horribly green with the light that was approaching. Draco's heart stopped, staring at Potter's eyes. His mouth dropped open and dried.

He licked his dry lips with his dry tongue and croaked out Potter's name again. And Potter's eyes dilated suddenly, so suddenly that the lightening storm, the lightening tree, looked green in the black depths of his eyes.

Then Potter gently pushed him away.

Draco stumbled and scrambled. He windmilled his arms and grabbed for Potter, somehow desperately managing to fist his hands around Potter's shirt sleeve. Draco's eyes began to water as soon as he touched him. He felt the world explode in light all around him.

Potter pushed him again, and Draco could've sworn he'd heard him whisper "no," but it was too late. Draco lost his footing and slipped off the edge of the boat, feeling the damp skin on his right shin peel away with a wince, but he was holding on tightly to Potter's strangely dry hand now.

The lightening struck them. He opened his mouth in a scream that he never heard coming and saw Potter do the same.

Potter arched, the arm that wasn't being held by Draco opening wide and seemingly accepting the charge, his head tilting back, and Draco felt his body convulse with the shock, his heart straining to beat again. But all he could think about, all he could remember, was the All-Purpose knife his father had given him before he boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. It was the same knife he'd whittled his initials with on this boat, smirking and trying to forget that his hand had been spurned and shunned. Saying to himself over and over that Potter would pay, that Hogwarts would be his. His! And that Potter would pay for refusing his friendship.

Draco wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh, but he couldn't remember where the knife went. He desperately needed it. Needed it, Draco thought, both his hands clenching and unclenching around Potter's hand and wrist, his bare feet scrabbling at the bottom of the boat, the skin on his toes chafing off on the rough, slightly rotting wood. His head jerked back and he saw the storm cloud right on top of them, the roots of lightening still attached. He was going to die, he knew, this pain was excruciating. Stupid, stupid Potter. He would bring them both back from the dead so he could kill him.

His eyes constricted so suddenly he felt the tiny muscles moving in his irises as he was drenched into darkness. Blind. He could still feel the lightening coursing through them.

Then he heard it. The thunder that broke his world apart. He screamed, but he couldn't hear it, he could only feel it ripping through his throat, out of his cracking lips. He knew that he'd gouged fingernail marks into Potter's skin, but even that doesn't give him one last lingering satisfaction as the thunder roared passed them, making sure that it was the last thing anyone ever heard. Warm liquid seeped out of his ears, and Draco's body bent against the pain of light and sound, his torso pushing against the boat, his drowning feet scrambling for solid ground.

Then everything stopped. For one inkling of a second everything was dead still, then he was ripped apart from Potter as the boat split in half and the lightening finally left them.

Draco slumped, somehow managing to fall on some driftwood, and knew that he was dead one second before the veil of blackness darker than his blindness blanketed him. His fingers stopped twitching. The storm cloud passed over them, dissipating fast as it did so, and Harry Potter, on his back in the water, his arms and legs spread wide, was deathly still as the rain dropped into his open eyes, falling out of them like tears.

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_Note: For any of you who are perhaps going back and forth between Hex and this profile, I just wanted to let you know that this story is not on Hex. I'm writing this story in the present tense. That also means that, while I'll try not to make it so, it might be slow going. But it's completely new to the Internet, my computer, and my eyes [at least until I type it]. Just thought you oughta know. Oh, and don't worry, I'll finish it. _

_Thanks for reading!  
_


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